


We Move Slow and Steady [But It Feels Like A Waterfall]

by sinandmisery



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:04:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinandmisery/pseuds/sinandmisery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke gets curious about the easel in Lexa's room and Lexa opens up to Clarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Move Slow and Steady [But It Feels Like A Waterfall]

**Author's Note:**

> for duckayeh, because she gave me the headcanon about Costia being the artist and for the trashkru because they let me assault them with the feels that became the bones of this little one shot.

The first time she's in Lexa's room - with her mother and Kane - she notices it. Her brain doesn't exactly have the time to really process it, not with everything else going on, but it's hard to miss the ornate easel sitting in the corner,  facing the sprawling horizon outside of Lexa's window. The next morning, standing in the same room as Lexa briefs her on the pending ambassador meeting, curiosity gets the better of her. When Lexa finishes talking, Clarke nods her understanding.

"I do have a question," she says and steps closer to the easel she noticed the evening before. Her back is to Lexa so she misses the way the Commander's shoulders straighten ever so slightly more as she moves closer.

"Yes, Clarke?"

"You draw? Paint?" She asks as she turns to look at Lexa, her hand reaching out to run along the decorative edge of the easel's frame. She doesn't miss the way Lexa's jaw tightens instantly and draws her hand back as if it had been burned.

"No," is all Lexa states, and Clarke files her increasing curiosity away for another day.

***

It's mid-morning the day after Roan was named King of Azgeda; after she has watched Lexa battle for her life and nearly lose it. She stands at her window, eyes scanning the streets of Polis, ears filled with the din of chatter in Trigedasleng. When she catches sight of the battlegrounds, she sees flashes of Lexa on the ground, Roan's spear rapidly making its descent. Bile rises in her throat and she tries not to think of what that means.

An echoing knock draws Clarke from her throughs and she turns to the door. " _ Min op _ ," she calls, and the heavy door sealing her room swings open to reveal Lexa.

"Heda," she says, tone light and teasing as she steps away from the window.

"Clarke," Lexa responds, but her tone gives no indication of the reason behind her visit

As Clarke rounds the couch in her room and takes a seat, she gestures for Lexa to sit as well. Lexa hesitates, fingers curling tighter around the spine of the book she holds in her right hand, before she takes a seat next to Clarke.

They sit in silence for a moment before Lexa reaches out, handing the book to Clarke. "These were Costia's," she says, handing Clarke the book and a canvas satchel that is stained with charcoal.

Clarke's fingers travel over the waves branded into the black leather cover, taking in every ridge as she processes the weight of what Lexa has just revealed. Her fingers graze the ragged edges of the pages bound inside, unsure of what her next move should be.

After a moment, Lexa shift closer, gently taking the book from her hands, fingers running the same ridges Clarke's had just travelled. "I had this made for her when I became Heda," she says, voice slow but sure. "She loved going to the sea. She said it made her feel free."

Clarke nods almost imperceptibly, never taking her eyes off Lexa; afraid she'll lose this moment if she does.

Lexa opens the book gently, revealing the first picture in the book, a striking picture of Anya's profile in full warrior gear.

"She loved to draw my warriors," Lexa says, edges of her lips drawing into a small smile. Her fingers trace just outside the lines of Anya's face, careful not to smudge the lines. "She'd sit in my tent as we discussed our plans and just draw for hours."

"Did she draw your maps?" Clarke asks.

"Some of them," Lexa nods. "Most were passed on from previous Commanders, but she drew some in more detail," Lexa says and she turns the page to reveal another warrior Clarke knows she never met. 

"Kanan," Lexa says, as Clarke takes in the angular face, covered in tattoos. A long scar traces across his face, from above his left eye all the way down to his right cheek. "He was Gustus's second, the best archer I have ever known."

The pattern continues for countless pages, Lexa introducing Clarke to her warriors, the vast majority of them already gone. Clarke lets her head rest against the back of the couch as she listens, taking everything in, eyes shifting between the pages and Lexa's face, marveling in the expressions that shift across it as Lexa tells the stories. The further they go through the book, the more Clarke realizes exactly how much Lexa has lost for someone so young and the thought makes her chest tighten. 

After the warriors are landscapes, and she tells Clarke those stories as well, about rare moments with Costia when she could just be Lexa for a few hours. There are a few drawings of the night sky and Clarke smiles.

"I drew the ground," Clarke says, speaking for the first time since they started going through the book.

"Hmm?" Lexa asks, turning to look at Clarke.

"On the Ark," she says by way of clarification. "When they had me in solitary, I drew so many pictures of the ground. Where I thought I'd be safe. Free."

A sad smile graces Lexa's lips, and Clarke thinks it might mean  _ I'm sorry _ . Her fingers itch to touch Lexa, to reassure her that in this moment, she feels both. In an effort to diffuse the moment, she averts her gaze back to the book. "Is that all?"

Lexa jolts into motion, but she stalls before turning the page completely.

"What?" Clarke glances back up at Lexa, whose cheeks are now a glorious shade of red and Clarke's interest is decidedly piqued.

Lexa clears her throat quietly and turns the page, revealing a full page sketch of Lexa in bed, on her stomach with her limbs sprawled out and her hair wild across the pillows. Furs are pooled around her hips and her face is obscured by her hair, but Clarke knows it's her from the tattoo sketched on her arm. There's another running down her spine, the one Clarke had noticed after the combat with Roan, and Clarke makes a mental note to ask about it. Some other time.

She lets her eyes drift over the curves and angles memorialized on the page and nudges Lexa in the ribs with her elbow and grins, setting off another furious bloom of red across Lexa's cheeks. Clarke's smile grows wider and even though it's weird -  _ different  _ \- to feel so normal and at ease, she relishes it. 

Her mind flickers back to Lexa's words before Mount Weather -  _ Polis will change the way you think about us.  _ \- and she realizes just how true that is. She knows her mind is still not completely at peace, knows it probably never will be, but it's a step in the right direction that she is eternally grateful for.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," Clarke says as Lexa closes the book gently. She reaches out, letting her fingertips drift across Lexa's knuckles before twining their fingers together against the cover. "I know how much she meant to you."

Lexa says nothing, but Clarke doesn't miss the squeeze of her hand or the fact that for the first time in months, there's no voice in the back of her head telling her not to let anyone in.

***

Clarke returns to her room after the meeting with the rest of the ambassadors, mentally exhausted but comforted by Lexa's final speech. She has no idea how this new found peace will go over, but she is hopeful.

A cloth-wrapped package resting on her bed catches her eye and she moves to it, taking the card resting on top that is inscribed with her name. Inside, the card reads  _ Ai ouyon yu klin kom mou kom dison. - Lexa _ and Clarke doesn't even attempt to hide the smile it brings to her face. She pulls the twine from the package, and gently opens the cloth to reveal a satchel of charcoal and sketchbook.

Clarke takes the book and moves closer to the a group of candles to inspect the branding on the cover. In the flickering light, she traces over a tree, red dye rubbed into the bark, that is reaching for the sky, tiny silver rivets acting as stars to punctuate the dark blue. The symbolism is not lost on Clarke and she bites her lip, inhaling deeply in an attempt to rein in the sudden torrent of emotions she's hit with. The one thing echoing in her mind on a loop is simply:

_ I'm ready. _

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from Of Monsters and Men's "Slow and Steady" (with slight pronoun changes)
> 
> also "Ai ouyon yu klin kom mou kom dison." means "I owe you more than this."


End file.
